by Martin FitzPatrick They stand on the porch calling goodbye to Mommy, wishing her a good day at work, a good journey to work. Goodbye. Goodbye. We love you. Have a good day. Have good luck. Don’t lose your beautiful dress. Don’t let any of your buttons come unbuttoned. Don’t lose your shoes. Or eyeglasses. Don’t lose your backpack. Or anything important out of it. Don’t forget your umbrella. I…
by Martin FitzPatrick If you were a songwriter, like with singing and guitars and everything, then every time you wanted to talk about being sad, you could say tears, and whenever you said tears, you could say they were falling, and then you could say they were doing it like rain. And if you wrote rock songs, with really loud guitars, you…
by Alexander Hurla Many years from now, when I’m old and gray and my joints hurt, I’ll climb into the dark attic and pull out a box from the corner— a moldy and moth-ridden one with faded words on the side. I’ll open it—almost reverently, almost scared— and wipe the dust from the picture of the crisp Marine uniform that used to…
by Alexander Hurla We’ve talked about dividing things. “Right down the middle,” we’ve said. “Fifty/fifty.” But how can we split things when you’ve touched everything that’s mine, and I’ve made my mark on everything that’s yours?
by Alexander Hurla I slept on the hardwood floor last night in this house that should have been ours. I hugged my knees the whole time and shivered because the bed we shared is ninety miles away, and a sleeping bag can’t replace you. The only woman in the house now sits on the mantle— a statue…
by Phibby Venable There is a panic of loud voices and low growlsbut the child stays hiddenShe wears her red sweater the laundries have worn softShe is drenched with anxiety and wipes her sweaty handssoftly in the hair of her dollShe is wary of hands & hurt Hidden beneath the…
by Megan Hodges The fields remember what we meant, not said:your laugh between the rows, the dust, the hush.Some love stays quiet long after it’s fled. We named the stars, then crawled into the shedand kissed behind the rake, so young, so rushed.The fields remember what we meant, not said….
by Hayley Russell Morning arrives like forgiveness, slow, reluctant, soft around the edges. I wake to the thin seam of light slipping beneath the curtain, a reminder that even closed spaces find their own ways to breathe. Some days, I am all heaviness, a stone learning to speak. Other days, I am the window, open just enough to let warmth through. Healing isn’t the rising. It’s the returning again and again to the quiet place…
by Ophelia Knight In America the pledge of allegiance is godly no man who serves his country will have benefits for life they are fleeting every politician has sacrificed a life written random names of innocent bystanders on stinky notes come back to the scene of the crime and shrugged over dead bodies informed their guard…
by Samuel Goldsmith 243? Is your scale broken? I’m afraid not, Mister Goldsmith. That stress goes straight to your waist. Might I suggest a lifestyle change? I recommend you eat more green food and fewer red alerts. But Doc, I already buried my checkmarks out back. I’m as unverified as a midnight snack, yet I can’t keep from being captive, a captain about to capsize…